Archive of Our Own

Dennis Whitaker hated his life. He hated everything about it. He hated Broken Bow, he hated being forced to go to church on Sunday’s - and as much as he wished he didn’t - he hated his family.

Mainly because they made it overtly obvious that they hated him, too.

They hated him because he was everything they weren’t. They weren’t naturally open-minded, they were quick to judge, and they never strayed from what the local pastor told them to believe.

At the first opportunity of an out, Dennis finished school and applied to college - a scholarship in anything he could get his hands on. Eighteen and ready to leave his shitty town behind; he packed what little he valued and left - hoping never to return. 

But then his Mom got sick. A stroke.

Dennis felt a pang of guilt that gnawed away at him for weeks, when he was in classes, when he ate, when he lay in his dorm room in the dead of night and willed for sleep to take him into unconsciousness. 

So that’s how Dennis ended up in Broken Bow, but more specifically how he ended up striding away from his family home in the middle of the night. 

The snide, cold comments from his older brothers finally sending him out of the door, and still echoing around his head.

‘Hey, Denny, you got a girlfriend yet?’

‘Girlfriend?! That’s a good one.’

‘You made a single friend yet, loser?’

‘Been to any parties? Oh wait, you’d need to know people to be invited,’

‘Dennis is probably the only freshman to never go out drinkin’,’

‘Why would anyone want to hang out with him?’

‘You’re too shy, Denny, no wonder you ain’t got any friends,’

‘He’ll be the first college kid to graduate with his virginity,’

‘Dennis, stop being such a sissy. You’re such a girl.’

‘Mom and Dad are glad to be shot of you, Denny.’

He’d spent his childhood and adolescence listening to them berate him, taunt him. He’d thought he could stick it out, just for the sake of seeing his Mom - out of some sense of duty. But he didn’t have to put up with the obvious loathing anymore. So he’d taken one last look at his stricken mother, tucked up in her bed - traversing the liminal space between awake and asleep; barely lucid, scattered and muddled.

‘I forgive you,’ he had whispered from the threshold of the bedroom, thinking back to his lonely and hollow childhood; of threats to be taken to conversion camps, and of a puberty spent desperately trying to fit in, thinking he wasn’t worthy of love because he was corrupted. Wrong.

Dennis pulls the straps on his rucksack and starts heading in the direction of town. It’s a half hour walk, he might even make the last bus to the airport - either way, he can’t stand another second in that house. His Dad watching and listening to the torment, never chastising the older boys - his frail Mom, bed-bound and delirious from pain relief.

Hot tears traitorously fall from his eyes, blurring streetlights and infrequent car headlights. Dennis keeps his pace and wishes with his whole being that there’s a late-night bus to Tulsa or Dallas, he can worry about logistics later. He’s got some emergency money left over from a shitty cafe job he works alongside college, and he doesn’t care if he has to sit in an airport all night or all day until he can afford a flight.

He sniffs, wipes his eyes, steps out into the crossroad without looking - - 

There’s a flash of white, halogen light, a blaring horn, and Dennis swears he hears the exact moment that his shoulder makes contact and his forearm snaps. He stumbles, the ground suddenly making contact with his body and - in what Dennis assumes is total fear and cowardice - he watches, from his prone position on his side, as the vehicle that just hit him steps on the gas and leaves a dustcloud bellowing from the rear tyres, the sound of the engine disappearing into the distance, red tail lights like demonic eyes growing smaller and further away.

Dennis’ head lolls with a wave of fatigue and his gaze falls on the dim, orange glow from the streetlamp above. It flickers for a second before returning. 

Looking at his gored arm, Dennis realises he’s losing a lot of blood at a rapid rate, there’s a tear in his forearm that goes from his wrist to almost the inside of his elbow and he can see bone poking through. Blood is pooling on the haggard asphalt and dirt road. His head is light, he feels a little woozy, he tries to get up with his good hand but pain bursts across his shoulders and he collapses back onto the ground - a groan punching its way out his throat. His backpack strapped to his back with his cheap pay-as-you-go phone tucked into the front pocket.

“Fuck,” Dennis moans, eyes screwed shut, reaching for his injured arm - pain throbbing from every nerve ending.

The light above him flickers violently. Dennis grimaces and choked noises bubbles out of his throat against his will. He just needs to get into town, then he can get help.

Dennis looks down at the puddle of blood. Shit. It’s doubled in size now, he can feel his own heartbeat in his wrist, blood flows freely like a leaking tap. He feels dizzy. 

Maybe if he just rests his eyes, someone might find him in a few minutes…

“Hey kid,” 

A shoe nudges him. Dennis cracks his eyes open and sees a man looking down at him. He’s wearing a white t-shirt with a black leather racer jacket and some expensive looking jeans. There’s curls of some dark variety around his face, and even with the silhouette from the light above, Dennis can tell he’s smirking.

“I don’t think you should be here,” the stranger continues, absurdly calmly.

Dennis tries to speak, but his jaw feels heavy, his tongue is like lead and his mouth is stuffed with cotton wool. He looks across at his arm, and then up at the stranger.

“Help,” he begs.

The look of amusement morphs into melancholy, the stranger crouches down and runs a hand through Dennis’ hair, gently tracing the back of his first finger down his cheek. His hand is cold, and upon closer inspection, Dennis notes the curls are gray - and there’s a small collection of freckles, like constellations across the top of his nose and cheeks.

Why isn’t he doing something? Dennis thinks.

“I’m not so sure you’re for me, sweet boy,” he says apologetically.

Dennis feels tears pool in his eyes again, and they drip down his face and are cold before they fall onto the road below.

The light above him suddenly burns brighter, so bright it’s like the sun’s come out, Dennis can hear the humming and buzzing of it - it reaches a frequency that makes him want to cover his ears but he’s in so much pain. The stranger crouching above closes his eyes, hands his head low and sighs, accepting something that Dennis is yet to understand.

The streetlight suddenly zaps and goes out, before audibly popping back on. And this time there’s a new figure in Dennis’ peripheral.

“Jack,”

The figure steps forward. He looks tired. Dark hair neat on top of his head, a rough beard to match. Dennis sees crows feet, a distinctive nose, and worn frown lines. He’s wearing what looks like a long wool coat, it’s dark and hanging open.

The stranger, Jack, gets to his feet and nods to the newcomer. 

“Michael,” he says, solemnly.

Michael leans over Dennis and the man below is entranced. Something about his presence is enrapturing. It’s like looking at the sun - magnetic, wrong, painful.

“Such a waste,” Michael says, taking Jack’s place and resting a hand on Dennis’ forehead “such a good soul.”

The strange thing is that Dennis can’t feel it. He can see it, but there’s no touch on his skin. Michael closes his eyes and an expression of peace falls onto his features, he exhales and in the warmth of the Nebraska summer’s evening, it’s like the cold wind that blows up on the mountains Dennis remembers climbing as a child in some neighbouring state. Dennis loses all the feeling in his body, his eyes slide shut, he’s totally weightless. Relief is the only thing that registers in his mind.

“Wait,” 

Dennis’ eyes snap open.

Jack has his hand on Michael’s shoulder, the dark-haired man looks up at him.

“Just…hold on a second,”

Michael removes his hand and Dennis squirms as pain bleeds back into his body, he gasps as the open nerves in his arm prickle and ache. Jack crouches next to Michael and looks down at Dennis, there’s urgency in his eyes - panic.

“Kid. What do you want, more than anything?” Jack urges.

Michael looks at the other man, confusion written plainly across his face.

“What are you - -?”

Jack shakes his head and addresses Dennis again “I want you to tell me what you desire the most. Outta everything, what’s the one thing you wish you had in life?”

Michael’s tone is knife-sharp “You can’t be serious,”

Jack’s head snaps across to Michael’s “I can’t let you take him. It’s too perfect. He’s so young. The date, the crossroads, the blood. Michael… he’s pure,”

Dennis would be embarrassed if he wasn’t actively dying. Jack reaches to the damaged arm and suddenly the pain is gone. 

“Think,” Jack presses, eyes demanding “one thing,”

“I just - -,” Dennis chokes, because tears are still tracking down his temples and he has no idea what’s happening right now “I just want to be happy. To have a normal life,”

An upset and complicated emotion passes over Michael’s face. 

Jack nods like he understands, and then he reaches down and covers Dennis’ eyes with his hand. 

Everything fades to white.

Dennis wakes up in his dorm room.

Sunlight is pouring in through the terrible curtains, and Dennis lies there for a second trying to recount what the hell happened.

He went to Broken Bow.

He left in the middle of the night.

He got hit by a car.

The two strangers.

Dennis’ attention snaps to his arm, but it’s good as new. There’s no wound, no blood… no pain.

“Here’s how it works,” a voice says, Dennis sits up.

Jack, dressed exactly the same as when Dennis last was awake. He’s reclining on a swivel chair and has his feet propped up on Dennis’ cluttered desk.

“I give you ten years,” he looks pointedly at Dennis “and you get the most normal life you could ever ask for. No big dramas, no family emergencies, no serious health issues. Hell, I chucked in a little bit of luck in there for good measure,”

He points at Dennis “But when those ten years are up, Dennis Whitaker, your soul is going to be judged. More than the average Joe. So use this decade, yeah? Be good. Do good.”

Dennis must look confused, because Jack smiles.

“You’re one of the very rare few who just happened to be at the right place at the right time,” Jack smiles, but it’s sad “use this time, Dennis,”

And then, as Dennis blinks, Jack is suddenly gone. The swivel chair ever-so-slightly turning any indication that there was anyone ever occupying it.

Dennis can’t really wrap his head around what just happened, but he picks up his phone from the bedside table and realises three days have passed and there’s a reminder from his calendar that he’s due in class in an hour.

From there, school starts going well. Dennis makes a small group of friends, his professors notice him, and he really begins to feel like he’s moving in the right direction. He gets good grades, his anxiety doesn’t grip him the way it used to, and he even takes up a healthy amount of hobbies. He gets a promotion at the cafe he works at and his shift ends up being the one the staff look forward to being on. He tries to maintain a cool and calm atmosphere, even when the line is twenty deep and the tables need clearing. 

Dennis starts enjoying life.

Six months pass and Dennis starts to wonder if it was all a dream. If he had some kind of manic episode or nervous breakdown on the way back to campus which meant he blanked out three days of his life. That is until he’s working a boring Monday afternoon shift at the cafe and a bizarrely familiar face appears at the register waiting to be served.

It’s Michael. 

Except he’s not wearing the long, dark coat like the last time he saw him. Instead it’s an expensive, grey, worn canvas jacket on and dark jeans, a motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm.

“Hi,” Dennis says awkwardly.

“Hi,” Michael replies, a lopsided smile on his face.

“Michael, right?” Dennis asks somewhat hesitantly, which feels fair considering the last time he saw this man he was bleeding out.

Michael’s nose wrinkles a bit in distaste “That feels a bit formal. Call me Robby,”

“Robby,” Dennis repeats, a little confused about the correlation “um, can I get you a drink? Some food?”

“Black americano, please,” Michael - - Robby replies, sliding a ten dollar note across to him “keep the change,”

Dennis nods, dropping the change in the tip jar and then busies himself with the coffee machine. 

Robby notices that Dennis doesn’t pocket the money and a wry smile passes across his lips.

“Go take a seat. I’ll bring it over to you,” Dennis says over his shoulder.

Robby nods gratefully “Any chance you could join me?”

Dennis casts a glance around the near-empty cafe, only a couple of patrons tapping on laptops, reading, or doom-scrolling in one hand and sipping their drink in the other.

“Sure,”

Filling the cup near to the top with hot water, he watches the small amount of foam swirl on the surface. 

Bubbles like two black eyes stare up at him. 

Before he can dwell on that thought too long, he puts the cup on a saucer and then carefully walks to the window seat Robby has chosen. Placing the coffee down next to the motorcycle helmet, Robby gives him a tight smile.

“I don’t usually make visits like this, I just owed Jack a favour,” he explains, bringing the coffee up to his lips and taking a hesitant sip.

Dennis feels a little lost as to how to respond “Okay?”

“It’s part of the whole deal. Almost like…insurance, I guess? I couldn’t tell you the last time a person sold their soul.” 

Hearing it out loud, Dennis’ throat constricts a little bit reflexively. He looks, self-consciously, around at the other people in the room with them.

Robby shrugs nonchalantly “They can’t hear what we’re talking about. Not that they’d care, anyway,”

“Right,” Dennis replies numbly, he has so many questions but none of them will form cohesively in his mind.

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this - talking, I’m sorry if I’m not a very good conversationalist,” the older man says, setting his coffee down “Jack explained everything, right?”

The look on Dennis’ face must betray him a little “Yeah, I think so,”

Unconvinced but accepting Dennis’ answer, Robby huffs a laugh.

“You’re very calm,” he observes.

“It kind of all feels like a dream. I’m not even sure you’re real. Maybe I’m just having some kind of mental breakdown?” Dennis replies, skeptically.

That really amuses Robby, he chuckles and then picks his coffee back up. He casts a look out through the window and across the street to the passers-by and sunshine filtering through the clouds. A fly buzzes and bounces off the glass, it’s loud in comparison to the ambiance at their table.

“It’s real. I’m real.” Robby assures him, he takes another sip of his coffee and Dennis notes how the dark liquid is almost identical to the colour of Robby’s iris’. 

“So, what’s the plan for the next nine and a half years?” he inquires quietly.

“I think… I’m going to try to become a doctor,” Dennis says carefully.

Robby looks concerned “Dennis, you’re aware how long that takes, right?”

Dennis nods “Yeah. I guess. But if I’m mad, then the ten years you said I have will pass and maybe I’ll come out the other side and keep helping people. And if this is all real, then I’ll be helping a lot of people along the way, regardless.”

Robby props his head on his hand and gives the younger man a quizzical look.

“You’d dedicate your life to helping others, even if it meant never getting to the end goal?”

Dennis shrugs “I think it’s what I’m meant to do. One of my professors said that when I graduate I could use my degree and it would mean I’d only need four years for an accelerated program. Then two years foundation programme, then if I’m lucky I could find where I’m supposed to be within four years,”

“That’s a tight schedule,” Robby says, brows pinching.

“I think it’s worth it.” Dennis says confidently.

The door to the cafe opens and Dennis looks up to see a new customer, he smiles at her and then looks back across the table to Robby. But, like Jack, he’s blinked out of existence. His coffee cup, empty - just the dregs of coffee granules lie at the bottom.  

Dennis gets up and collects the crockery, brushing a dead fly off the table onto the floor and makes his way over to the counter. He leaves the coffee cup on the side as a reminder to himself that he’s not crazy as he serves the customer.

It’s only when he’s just about to rinse the cup out later that he notices the faint silhouette of a dog’s head. Pointed ears, long snout.

Huffing, he fills the cup with soapy water and shakes his head.

He’s definitely going mad.

A year passes; neither Jack nor Robby appear. Dennis focuses on getting the best grades he can. He studies, socialises, sleeps, and tries to be a good person.

He helps a woman with a pram onto the bus. He gives spare change to the homeless veteran on the corner next to the cafe, takes out plastic cups of water to him on hot days, and when it reaches the end of the day he even puts together a brown paper bag filled with sweet, high calorie pastries and gives them to the man. He hopes it helps him. That he doesn’t feel so invisible when Dennis asks him how he is, if there’s anything he can do.

One day, he sees two teenagers taunting the man. One has the man’s bag, dumping what little possessions he has onto the sidewalk, the other is filming.

Rage fills Dennis’ veins and with no idea what comes over him, he storms out of the cafe, grabbing the broom from by the front door. 

“Hey!” he shouts as he strides towards them “cut it out!”

Before he knows it, he’s hit the wrist of the first boy so he drops the bag. Dennis knocks the phone out of the other one’s hand and stamps on it until it crunches satisfyingly. He holds the broom threateningly, daring them to come at him. The boys scarper, but throw insults over their shoulders as they retreat.

“Thank you, kid,” the man says, winded but relatively unharmed.

“No worries,” Dennis says, suddenly feeling bashful at his actions.

He finishes college, and shockingly, his family comes to the graduation ceremony, his Mom is doing better. There’s no arguments, no back-handed comments, his brothers are unnaturally kind. Dennis steps up onto the stage when his name is called, his hand is trembling when he shakes the hand of the University’s President. He looks out into the crowd and sees his family sitting towards the back, smiling politely and clapping.

As he scans the crowd whilst he descends the stairs back to his seat, he swears he sees Robby and Jack sitting in the front row of the auditorium. But, like always, when he looks back they’re not there and there’s two empty seats instead.

Life continues. As he hoped, Dennis manages to get into an accelerated programme at a medical school in Ohio. Whilst not his first choice, he’s excited all the same. It’s only a partially funded scholarship this time, so Dennis is aware that he’s probably going to be exhausted for the indefinite future.

The thing is, his body rarely gets ill these days. He gets tired when he pulls all-nighters, or does five or six days of classes, followed by working a full shift at the nearby 24-hour diner - but he sleeps well, and tries to look after himself as best he can with the time and budget he’s got.

The first eighteen months pass in a blur of classes; Dennis enjoys anatomy the most, seeing all the complexities of the human body - it almost makes him believe in God again. He dislikes pathology the most, and during one class his professor presents a suicide case study. Long tears in both forearms. Blood, cleaned for photographic purposes, but it’s obvious they’re deep. Tissue, sinew, and flesh raw and pale under fluorescent light. A shiver runs down Dennis’ spine at the image of it, the memories of pain and blood spilling onto dirt flash behind his eyes every time he blinks. 

He looks to the side to avert his eyes and swears he catches a reflection in the window of Robby, sitting in the seat next to him, looking directly at him - a sad smile on his face. But one of his classmates walks between Dennis and the window, and by the time they’ve cleared his view the seat next to Dennis is vacant once more.

Dennis looks around to see if anyone saw what he did, but everyone is diligently typing or scribbling information down. 

He puts a hand on the cushion padding on the seat next to him.

It’s ice cold. 

He gets a rare breather at the end of his first year. There’s no exams, no paper deadlines, and no classes for six weeks - he picks up more shifts at the diner whilst he has the time. Dennis worked his actual ass off and it paid dividends, he survived his first year in med school. He locks the front door to his shoebox apartment to go and join his friends at a dive bar nearby.

Pushing the door open to the bar, he’s met with warm cheers and calls of his name. His heart flutters and stammers in his chest. These are his friends who want to buy him drinks, and congratulate him, and talk to him. Three drinks in and Dennis’ whole body feels warm and relaxed, he ambles to the bar and bumps into another patron.

“Hey, careful there,” the man says mildly.

“Oh my god, I’m so - -,” Dennis says, embarrassed  - and then he looks up.

Jack smiles at him. He’s dressed exactly the same as he was the night he saved Dennis - or perhaps… damned him?

“I’m just pulling your leg, kid. How’s things going?” Jack picks up a glass from the bar, it’s a third full with some kind of spirit, dark brown with sparse ice. Whiskey, probably.

Dennis smiles almost bashfully, internally he blames the alcohol.

“Really well! It’s so interesting, did you know that nerve impulses move at 250mph through the body?”

Jack smirks, but it’s fond rather than patronising “Is that so?”

Nodding, Dennis wishes he could stop, but his brain is all fuzzy and he doesn’t know how long he has until Jack disappears in the blink of an eye.

“And most people aged 60 and over have lost half their sense of taste?” Dennis continues, but then he sobers for a brief second.

“60,” he says quietly, as if realising the gravity of the number.

Jack sighs and puts his glass on the bar “Don’t think too hard on that, kiddo. Get another drink. Have some fun. Go home with a stranger -  make mistakes, live a little,”

Dennis suddenly feels like the last thing he wants right now is to be out. As if his social battery has suddenly drained without him realising. He swirls the dregs of his drinks and feels something settle in his chest - a certainty. The bar is too loud. The laughter and shrieking too much with the reminder of the reality of his life - a ticking clock.

He doesn’t want to go home with a stranger, he doesn’t want to be reminded of the constant pendulum hanging over his life. He wants to fall asleep in his own bed, alone, wake up in the morning and distance himself from the reality of his future.

He also internally notes that Jack doesn’t seem to realise what ‘going home with someone’ would denote. Jack, whatever he is - Dennis isn’t ready to start thinking about that right now - presents as deeply masculine and charming. Dennis is slowly becoming aware of his destiny, of being damned, he doesn’t need to add more fuel to the fire with religious guilt and internalized conflict towards his own sexuality. It wasn’t like he was having those kinds of relations before all this started, he knows it’s easier to leave a wide berth from that particular area. Especially considering his upbringing - sinful, lustful, sodomy.

Fingers clicks in front of his eyes and Dennis is back in the bar, his internal spiral paused somewhat. 

Jack drops his hand and gives him a sideways look “You okay?”

And this time, for the first time, Dennis just nods and walks away from the bar - from Jack, who’s still there looking perplexed at the young man’s behaviour.

Dennis moves, dreamlike, towards the table where his friends have gathered - the noise from them is making Dennis’ ears ring. He makes his excuses and within two minutes, of obligatory hugs and tipsy requests for him to stay, he’s outside the bar and hastily walking home.

Things feel more real now. Dennis doesn’t quite know how to compartmentalize the way his chest feels empty and definite.

Shortly into his second year in med school, Dennis’ class visits Marion General Hospital. 

Well, more specifically their morgue and pathology lab. It’s cold out. Fall is well and truly underway, Dennis pulls his maroon corduroy coat tighter around him as they descend down a stairwell into the bowels of the hospital. One of the pathologists is talking, giving background information to the group of students as they walk into the morgue. There’s three stainless steel gurneys - two are clean and shining in the bleak, harsh light. One has a sheet pulled over it, a body clearly shrouded.

Dennis swallows. It’s reflexive. He gets a brief taste of formaldehyde and antiseptic on his tongue.

The pathologist stands next to the covered body, explaining the process of autopsy - the realities of it versus the academic hypotheticals.

Before he can really register what he’s doing, he’s got his hand raised and asking if he can use the restroom. The pathologist gives him brief directions back onto the corridor they came down. He nods and then slips out of the morgue and towards the toilets. He’s just about to push the door to the toilets open when - -.

“Dennis,” a voice says.

Dennis turns, Robby stands a few feet away from him - except this time he’s donned in dark maroon pathology scrubs with a long sleeve black t-shirt layered underneath, sleeves rolled up to his elbows - Dennis notes the tone of his forearms before his eyes guiltily snap to Robby’s face. He’s giving the younger man a curious look.

“Everything okay? Jack said the last time he saw you, you didn’t seem yourself,” Robby’s brows are pinched in a way that Dennis has come to notice as a regular mannerism.

“I’m fine.” Dennis says, tone a little short “and that was like…months ago. But yeah. Fine,”

Robby looks a bit contrite “Yeah, about that. Time is a bit of a strange concept for us. We’re kept busy most of the time - sometimes so busy we don’t notice how long has passed. How long has it been since you last saw Jack?”

“Two months, maybe three?” Dennis replies, jerking his head toward the restrooms.

He holds the door open for Robby to follow, which he does. 

“How’s school?” Robby says, leaning up the two-sink counter, he slips a hand behind his neck and rubs the skin there. That’s when Dennis notices a tattoo. But before he can properly get a look, Robby’s arm drops to his side and he’s looking expectantly at the younger man.

“Great. I’m still looking on-track for my schedule.” Dennis feels tense, the air feels awkward.

Robby digests that for a beat, as if carefully forming what he wants to say before he says it “Just remember to take some time for yourself?”

Dennis gives him a confused look.

“Take it from me. You need to find balance. I know you want to help people, but unlike everyone else you know, there’s a finite amount of time on your hands. Just wanting to help, to care, to give that time to such a selfless profession - you need to let yourself live.” Robby gives him a pointed look.

Dennis shakes his head “You’re wrong,”

Robby’s eyes narrow, his forehead creases “I’m sorry?”

“Out of everyone, I’m the lucky one, I guess.” Dennis sighs, he rubs his eyes tiredly “I know how much time I have. It’s pretty much guaranteed, right?”

The older man gives a half shrug in agreement, still looking skeptical.

“Who else can say that?” Dennis asks, incredulously.

Robby opens his mouth, but then he shuts it.

“Whatever I decide to do with my time - I know I have it. Not many people, if any, can say that.” Dennis finishes quietly.

They lull into silence, a moment passes where they’re just looking at one another.

“For a 22 year-old, you seem to have your head screwed on more than people twice, if not three times your age,” Robby says, he chews a grin “it’s actually a little annoying,”

A small smile crosses Dennis’ face “Sorry,”

Robby rolls his eyes “Dennis, only you would apologise for making a decent point about living altruistically,”

Heat creeps up Dennis’ face, he doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Tell you what, you just call if you need someone to talk to about this, yeah? It’s not exactly the kind of conversation you can have with your friends.” Robby says “you just say my name, I’ll be there as soon as I can,”

Dennis nods “Sure. Thank you,”

Robby smiles, the lights in the restroom flicker, and suddenly he’s gone.

The door opens and one of Dennis’ classmates pokes his head in.

“You okay?” he asks “they wanted me to check on you,”

Dennis nods and goes to wash his hands “Yeah, good, fine, thanks Leo. I was just about to head back.”

Leo pushes the door open as Dennis dries his hands. He holds it open so Dennis can leave first, when they get into the hallway and start walking back to the pathology lab Leo looks around and then at Dennis.

“Is it me or was it like… super cold in there?” he asks, wringing his hands.

Dennis shrugs “I didn’t notice,”

Dennis’ life carries on, but the conversation with Robby rattle around his head.

‘Just call if you need someone to talk to.’

It’s tempting, especially when he’s feeling lonely. Sitting on his secondhand sofa eating ramen after a long day, or scrolling on his phone behind the register in the diner on quiet days, on the bus too and from lectures, or lying in bed on a rare morning off - unable to decide what to do with his short-lived, free time.

But he staves off the sensation - the urge - mostly because of the embarrassment of having to come up with a real reason. If he calls Robby, summons him, then he needs a damn good justification for interrupting his…day…his existence?

So Dennis tries to put it to the back of his mind; he works, he studies, he spends time socialising (although he wishes it was more often to stave off the loneliness that crept into his day-to-day life). But he keeps doing good, he sees an advert for volunteers wanted at the local Soup Kitchen and goes when he can - it helps him sleep a little better. 

He uses some of his tips to cover $10 to a frazzled-looking father with two young and upset kids in front of him at the store, he smiles and hopes it comes across as understanding rather than patronizing. 

Dennis breaks up a fight between a woman and her soon-to-be ex boyfriend in the diner, he’d had his eye on them since they’d walked in and ordered. The man’s hand, too tight around the woman’s forearm, the shadow of a bruise high on her cheek. Dennis sees the man reach across and bunch a hand in the woman’s hair and decides enough is enough, he strides up to the table and tells him to leave. 

The man lunges, but Dennis’ reactions are quicker and he ducks to one side and reflexively swings back. The satisfying crunch of the bone of his knuckle connecting with the soft part of the man’s nose ends in a spurt of blood and a hasty retreat, drops of blood trailing out the door as the woman cries in relief. Dennis calls the police, tells them what happened, and gives the woman a hopeful smile as he watches her being taken to the local police station to make a formal statement.

More months pass, exams come and go, stress ebbs and flows. Eventually he and his friends finally manage to organise a night out in a bar, they all stay until close. Dennis pulls his coat on as the lights overhead in the bar brighten and the atmosphere sobers a little. They say their goodbyes to one another, and then Dennis trudges home - alcohol still potent in his blood, body heavy, vision soft.

When he slots his key into the lock, that horrendous loneliness hits him square in the chest. Dennis is suddenly aware of how little his friends know, that one day they could well be stood over his grave, mourning him, crying for him. The image is like a physical blow and Dennis winces as he shoves the front door open; he knows he can’t think like this, and he’s more than aware about the depressant properties of alcohol. But right here, in this moment, his eyes well up, the intoxication in his body swells and Dennis sobs as he all but slams the door behind himself and toes off his shoes.

“Robby,” he whispers, extricating himself clumsily from his coat.

He looks around. Nothing.

“Robby,” Dennis pleads to the air, crawling onto the sofa and pulling the threadbare blanket draped over the back of it across himself.

He blinks away burning hot tears, his peripheral swims. 

Dennis doesn’t know what the reason for Robby’s absence is, but he’s certain it’s something to do with him and how needy he must seem. Dennis shuts his eyes, feels his body relax into the musty, lumpy pillows.

“Dennis?”

The younger man’s eyes snap open.

Robby is standing in his pokey living room-slash-kitchenette, he’s wearing a thick charcoal turtleneck jumper, it’s flecked with light gray piling, with dark-washed jeans. He’s got a mildly concerned look on his face and he’s peering down at Dennis.

The jumper looks soft. Dennis wants to reach out and touch it.

“You came,” he croaks.

“You called.” Robby says carefully “what happened?”

“I can’t do it,” Dennis mumbles, eyes half-shut “it’s too much,”

The concern on the older man’s face dials up and he crouches in front of Dennis, he’s still half-drunk and shame swells in his chest as fresh tears spring to his eyes again.

“What’s too much?” 

“Being good. Doing good. Trying to be good,” Dennis breathes.

“What do you mean, Dennis?” Robby leans his elbows on his knees for stability and waits.

Dennis chokes on his words “I’m so alone. I’m exhausted. Faulty and alone.”

There’s silence between them. Just the sound of Dennis’ breathing rattling out of his throat as it catches on his sobs.

Robby’s head droops and he holds it with one of the hands propped on his knees.

“Dennis - -,” he says looking up, but Dennis suddenly takes a deep breath, he tries to push himself up onto his elbows to get away from the other man’s gaze. He uses a shaky hand to wipe his wet cheeks.

“I shouldn’t have called you…,” Dennis sniffs, swinging his legs so his feet plant onto the floor, it’s a clumsy movement clouded by alcohol.

“I’m glad you did,” Robby says softly.

Dennis stops looking anywhere but Robby. His eyes snap up to the other man. 

“If you knew me. Knew me properly. You wouldn’t have let Jack save me.” Dennis murmurs.

Robby pushes up and manoeuvres to sit next to Dennis.

“Why do you think you weren’t worth saving?” he asks quietly.

Dennis takes another breath, fingers clutching the fabric of the sofa until his knuckles turn white. 

“Because even though Jack fixed me. And even though I’m away from my family, and the church, I still feel dirty. I still feel wrong. Unnatural.”

The air changes, all of a sudden they’re so close. So close Dennis can see tiny blemishes on the bridge of Robby’s nose. The wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. That coffee colour of his iris’. They’re warm.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. Trust me.” Robby says faintly, the ghost of his breath rushes over the lower part of Dennis’ face. 

Fuck, when did they get this close? Dennis feels freshly drunk again. Intoxicated by the proximity.

Robby’s eyes drift down to Dennis’ lips. One of them is leaning in, perhaps both of them are, it’s impossible to tell. Dennis’ cheeks still feel damp from all the tears he’s shed in self-pity, his eyes feel raw, and his body slow and lethargic, but that doesn’t seem to phase Robby one bit.

Then.

Dennis’ phone rings out, a sharp message tone. Then another. Then another.

It cuts the atmosphere immediately.

Robby pulls back like he’s just sobered up, Dennis feels panic course through him and he reaches for his phone to silence it. He leans forwards to pick it off the floor, and flicks the switch on the side.

But when he sits up, Robby’s gone.

He’s disappeared.

“Robby?” Dennis calls, looking around the tiny room. Checks over his shoulder.

Nothing.

Robby’s gone.

Dennis calls out for Robby every night for two weeks after that. 

He never appears.

More weeks pass. Dennis swears he thought he knew what loneliness felt like as a child - as a teenager. But Robby ignoring him feels like he’s being torn apart. It feels like confirmation of everything he was told as a kid.

He starts to struggle at school. 

He scrapes through exams. 

He numbly wipes tables at the diner.

Six weeks slide by. Like slowly being dragged over glass. The cycle repeats.

Then one morning, as he lays in bed staring at the ceiling with drab, watery light puddling through the curtains, all of a sudden - -.

“Hey, kid,”

Dennis sits up. Jack is standing in the doorway. His normal charming face is conflicted with some kind of sadness.

“Jack,” Dennis isn’t sure if it’s a statement or a question.

The older man looks like he doesn’t know what to say. A moment passes before he finally speaks.

“You don’t look so good, Dennis,” he finally says, voice gentle.

“Where’s Robby?” Dennis asks, guilt wrapping around his throat.

Jack sighs, he looks up, closes his eyes, and then hangs his head.

Opening his eyes, he holds Dennis’ gaze from across the room “He…uh... He’s tied up with something.”

It’s a terrible lie. Something cracks in Dennis’ chest, like confirmation. 

Jack pushes off the doorframe and approaches the younger man, he sits on the edge of the bed.

“It’s my deal. Robby never needed to be involved. He was only ever helping me out. I…uh… doubt he’ll stop by again,” Jack explains, the look in his eyes should be reassuring - but Dennis just feels like his lungs are being squeezed with fear. 

“Keep your head down, get to where you want to be with the time you’ve got, yeah?” Jack says “and I’ll keep checking in?”

Dennis nods, numbly. Jack pats his shoulder, rises to his feet and then points at the shoddy third-hand IKEA bedside table, Dennis follows where he’s pointing and sees the familiar packaging of Dunkin Donuts, a steaming coffee cup and a Dunkin branded paper bag.

“French vanilla latte and a Boston donut - that’s your favorite, right?” Jack says, eyes kind.

“Yeah,” Dennis breathes.

“Chin up, kid. I’ll see you soon,” 

And then Jack’s gone, just like Robby. In the fraction of a second between his eyes closing and opening.

It takes over four weeks for life to resemble anything normal. For the guilt to stop eating at his flesh like a parasite.

Dennis buries his feelings and throws himself back into his studies. 

He’d spent most of his life burying those feelings, he could do it again.

Nose-deep in books, scratching notes in seminars, pouring over his shitty laptop watching educational videos and flicking through powerpoints.

His grades pick up, but the emptiness presides.

Whilst hand-washing dishes on night-shift at the diner, Dennis cuts his hand on the chipped edge of a plate.

He watches the blood drip into the sink, the way the red spreads on the steel, it unfurls into the plug hole.

There’s no pain. Somehow that doesn’t shock Dennis.

He puts a plaster on the cut and carries on.

Jack checks in around a month later. Dennis can immediately tell that Jack picks up on how subdued he is, but he doesn’t mention it. 

Dennis tells him what he wants to hear. Promises to socialise more. Promises to sleep more.

Jack materialises a large take-out of Chipotle on the coffee table.

“Chicken, brown rice, black beans, salsa and sour cream,” he says, with a tiny smile “you look like you could use a little protein,”

The younger man fixes Jack with a look. He knows it probably looks hollow in his eyes.

Jack disappears without another word between them.

After a while, of multiple ignored messages, Dennis’ friends and classmates stop texting to make plans. 

He’s fine with that because it means he doesn’t need to come up with excuses to convince himself not to go.

Dennis does find joy as time passes. He enjoys the lab work, the practical lectures, visiting different hospitals and seeing what his placements might look like in the future. 

He keeps being as kind as he can. Occasionally he comes home to find food sitting on the kitchen counter. Jack is nowhere to be seen, but Dennis knows it can only be him. The bags are always full to bursting with Thai, Mexican, Turkish or Japanese food. So much so that Dennis takes his own portion, and then goes for a walk around the neighbourhood and gives whatever is left to anyone he finds sleeping rough.

It helps him feel just a tiny bit better.

Before he knows it, his second year of pre-clinical is over in a flurry of books, exams, heartache, and solitary living. 

For the first time since Robby disappeared, Dennis feels a flutter of pride and a clench of excitement at the prospect of placements.

Placement comes in the form of moving states. Dennis scrapes and scrounges some money together to haul his things and move to Pennsylvania. 

He finds another tiny flat on the fifth floor of an apartment block. He goes to see it and the landlord offers it to him for two hundred a month less than what it was advertised for online.

When Dennis goes to check out the bathroom, he catches a glimpse of Jack standing behind him in the reflection. 

Jack winks. 

Dennis spins on the spot, but the other man isn’t there.

He signs for the apartment and moves in the same day.

On the way out, his eyes spots a dead fly on the kitchenette windowsill. 

He thinks nothing of it and soon it’s forgotten.

Dennis finds a job. It’s in a bar this time. He’s silently glad that the smell of burnt coffee and greasy eggs is replaced with stale alcohol and oven-to-table food.

The manager can’t guarantee set hours, but Dennis does the mental maths and surmises that he can scrape by.

His placement is at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre.

In his first year alongside general medicine studies, he does a rotation in the ICU, paediatrics, and psychiatry.  

Things go really well. He helps, he heals, he learns.

The wound that Robby had ripped open stitches itself back together, slowly but surely. 

As time passes, that night stops becoming something that Dennis thinks about most days, to infrequently, to rarely, to almost not at all.

Dennis buries his deep-set internalized hatred and tries to morph it into something that he can use in his work. It isn’t a faultless plan, and he knows that realistically one day he might have to face it.

But given how much time he has left, he doubts that will ever happen.

In his second year, he does a rotation in the PTMC Emergency Department.

He meets Dr Samira Mohan, Dr Mel King, and doctor-in-the-making and font of all textbook knowledge Victoria Javadi. He likes them all instantly.

But he also meets Trinity Santos. She’s spiky, and rude, and there’s something about her honesty that makes him breathe a little easier. Whilst making up slightly derogatory names for her co-workers, he just likes how down the line she is, how he doesn’t have to guess what she’s thinking.

She’s also gay. And proud.

The issue with Dennis’ childhood is that he was led to believe that his sin meant a life and death of eternal damnation - regardless of whether he ever acted on those impulses, and regardless of if he believed it entirely as an adult. But away from his teaching, realistically, Dennis always knew it wasn’t for him to judge others. People were capable of making their own decisions, he just knew the consequences for himself. He knows that now.

Trinity isn’t ashamed. She’s happy. She’s at peace with her sexuality.

They hang out after work, before work, and have coffee in the hospital cafeteria. 

Soon an almost impossibly-young Victoria Javadi joins them, and occasionally the ED gossip-mongers Princess and Perlah will sit and sip coffee, cackling at incredulous tidbits that make Dennis smile against his better judgement.

Some small part of him feels jealous towards Trinity. But he thinks spending time with her helps soothe something in him.

It’s three-quarters of the way through his ED rotation that the other shoe drops.

Dennis is walking home having just completed yet another gruelling 15-hour shift. A normal 12-hour marathon extended by a pile-up on the I-279. 

Snow, wind, and poor road conditions.

Dennis has just spent the last four hours suturing wounds, securing splints, and assessing concussions. 

Walking home in the dark half-asleep, his black thermal parka wrapped as close as possible around him, the snow drives at his face - causing him to blink through the static. Crossing a road, he looks around and then begins to scurry to the sidewalk on the other side - he’s mere minutes from opening his apartment door and collapsing into bed.

Dennis is not even two metres from the curb when the familiar noise of screeching brakes and blaring horn are suddenly emanating from his right.

“DENNIS!”

Two hands grasp his torso tightly and pull him to one side, almost violently, out of the path of the car that’s mere centimetres from making impact. The hands rush him onto the sidewalk, and adrenaline rushes through his veins.

He knows that voice.

He doesn’t want to turn around and find no one there.

“Dennis,” the voice says again, it’s exasperated. Tired.

Dennis turns around.

Robby meets his vision, and every carefully stacked emotion comes crashing down onto the icy concrete. He stands there, there’s still a hint of panic in his eyes - a wildness Dennis hasn’t seen before. The long coat from the first night they met is wrapped tightly around him, there’s a thick grey scarf around his neck collecting icy drifts.

Snow swirls around them, neither of them speaking. 

But there’s so much Dennis wants to say.

Why did you leave?

What’s wrong with me?

Why didn’t you come back?

Please forgive me?

Robby visibly swallows “You have to be more careful, Dennis,”

Dennis doesn’t know what that means. Does he mean now…or then?

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” is all Dennis manages to scrape out, hot guilt welling in his eyes against the freezing cold wind “Jack said you weren’t coming back,”

Robby scrubs a hand down his face, wiping off melted snow and inhales deeply.

“You live near, right?” he says, more of a statement than a question.

Dennis nods.

“Let’s talk,” he motions for Dennis to lead the way.

He does.

They walk side-by-side back to Dennis’ apartment. In absolute silence. 

By the time Dennis slides the key into the lock of the exterior door into the apartments, his hand is shaking so badly from cold and adrenaline drop, that Robby covers it with his own and wordlessly helps him. Dennis slips into the hallway first, he stabs the button for the elevator and they wait. 

The air feels thick. 

Tangible.

Ascending up to the fifth floor, Dennis picks at his cuticles, it hurts but it grounds him enough to keep his breathing even.

When Dennis opens his own front door, his hands are steadier. He motions for Robby to go first.

“Sorry about the mess, I don’t get much time to clean up at the moment. The ED is a bit chaotic for getting out on time.”

A small smile crosses Robby’s face and he shrugs “I don’t mind,”

Dennis doesn’t quite know where he gets the courage from, but out of nowhere words begin tumbling out of his mouth - -

“Look, about last time - -,” he says, voice rushed.

Robby’s unwinding his scarf from his neck and he freezes.

“Dennis,” he says, there's a flash of warning in his tone.

Dennis shakes his head “Let me finish,”

He presses on “No, please. I know I crossed a line. I was drunk. It was stupid. You were here, and I’m sorry if I freaked you out and that’s why you didn’t come back - I just need you to know that it’ll never happen again. You and Jack saved me, you look out for me more than my own family. I don’t want to lose that. I - I don’t want to lose you. Not again.”

Robby rubs the back of his neck reflexively “Dennis, it wasn’t anything you did,”

Dennis’ face contorts into confusion “What?”

“Despite what you might think, you’re not broken, Dennis. You weren’t before the deal, and you aren’t now. You’re p- you’re just you. It was my fault. I over-stepped.” Robby says, his eyes almost imploring.

“Then why didn’t you come back?”

“Because I didn’t want to make the same mistake again, and ruin everything,”

Mistake.

“It was a mistake?” Dennis murmurs.

Robby covers his face with a hand and cringes at his own phrasing “No…well…sort of. My mistake. Not you.”

“So you didn’t…?” 

“Fuck. Dennis. I can’t. It’s not allowed,” 

Dennis feels a complicated mix of rejection and guilt settle in his chest.

Not allowed to have because it’s wrong. Because it’s bad. Because Dennis is tainted enough as it is. Other people are allowed to, but Dennis is already damned.

“Okay,”

“Okay?” Robby has a complicated look on his face.

“I understand,” he says simply.

“You do?”

“I think so,” Dennis says, he ducks his head “you…uh… don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,”

“Do you want me to?” Robby asks.

“Are you allowed to?” Dennis knows it sounds childish from the second it falls from his lips.

He hears Robby sigh “Dennis,”

“Don’t stay if you’re busy. You’ve saved me again. You can go if you need to,”

“I don’t want to go if you want me to stay,”

“I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble,” Dennis says with a small shrug.

The floor flexes and Dennis looks up to see Robby walking across the room towards him. He reaches out and cups Dennis’ cheek in his hand, his skin rough against the smoothness of Dennis’ cheekbone. The younger man leans into the touch and his eyes slide shut, and for the first time in months, years - his mind goes perfectly blank and that peaceful nothingness fills his body.

“I’m sorry,” Robby breathes.

When Dennis opens his eyes, Robby is gone once again.

The discarded scarf sits on the counter. The only evidence that their meeting had even occurred.

Time speeds up, Dennis doesn’t see Robby again. But out of some sense of self-deprecation and self-flagellation he keeps his scarf and wears it for the rest of winter.

Jack checks in, but he doesn’t loiter long anymore. He never comes to the bar Dennis works at, he only ever appears in the apartment. 

The tradition of leaving food after a visit continues on. As does Dennis’ walk to hand out leftovers to the local homeless community.

There’s no time to volunteer like he used to, between working, studying and his rotation. 

Instead Dennis tries to keep doing good in his everyday life.

In the ED, he works up an elderly lady named Helen, she’s fallen at her home and whilst her injuries aren’t debilitating, it’s only a matter of time until she falls down the stairs or some similar accident. At first she’s resistant, but with some gentle persuading Dennis manages to convince her to think about her own health. He makes some calls and finds her a place in supported housing - he rings her family and hands over the information to them. They thank him and he goes home feeling like he’s done more than just potentially saving a life.

Winter melts into spring, and with it comes warmer weather. Dennis exhausts himself whilst doing CPR on a drowning victim from the Ohio River; cold water shock, water inhalation. He sweats and curses and prays that the kid pulls through. They get a self-supported pulse after 10 minutes of CPR and shocks, Dennis feels relief sweep through his body. He falls into a chair, hair sticking to his forehead, adrenaline buzzing through his veins.

His attending, Dr Shen, gives him a solid pat on his shoulder whilst he’s still panting.

“Good work, Whitaker,” he says, before calling orders and picking up his iced coffee, he wanders back to the Central area.

Dennis smiles, tired and disbelieving, hands tingling and skin like electric.

Whilst he saves lives, he loses them, too. It’s the balance of how the world works. Dennis knows it can’t all be recovered pulses and tears of joy.

He loves the ED. He thrives in the paces of it all. He and Trinity bicker like brother and sister and he finally feels like he’s found the real dynamic that he should have had throughout his life thus far.

They get drunk one night in early summer, both sat criss-crossed on the floor of his living room. The alcohol breaks through curiosity and Trinity blatantly asks if he’s gay.

“It’s not exactly a stretch, Huckleberry,” she states, matter of factly, before sweeping another tequila shot and downing it with a professional ease.

But it’s when he feels tears in his eyes, burning hot like the liquor in his stomach, that she suddenly realises his silence isn’t because of maintaining privacy.

“You know it’s okay, right, Dennis?” she says.

Dennis feels those tears fall from his eyes and before he knows it, she’s crawled over from their cross-legged position on her apartment living room floor and wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug.

“You’re okay,” she says fiercely into his ear. And later he’ll blame it on the alcohol, but he knows the unresolved trauma of his upbringing is speared and unearthed like soil, spilling in piles and falling unevenly. Causing waterfalls to pour from his eyes and for his whole body to shake. They sit like that until Dennis is cried out, and sleep starts to pull at his eyes.

They’re closer from then on. 

Trinity knows where the line is, and one evening a group of them decide to go out to a bar. Someone, maybe Dr Mohan, suggests a gay bar nearby, but Trinity sees the panic in Dennis’ eyes and shoots that down with practised ease.

“That place is literally the worst, I know somewhere good,” she says dryly. 

Mohan shrugs and they shuffle off in the opposite direction.

Dennis has never been more grateful for Trinity fucking Santos in that moment.

From there, the ED group gets closer. Dennis goes to work, then to his bar job, then sleeps. 

Sometimes the others come to visit the bar whilst Dennis is working. 

Mel brings her sister Becca, they always order a pizza and stay for a couple of hours. 

Trinity likes to stop by and nurse a drink on quiet nights, she never gets drunk but just keeps him company. 

Victoria pops in, but only ever gets orange juice and never stays long - she just enjoys having plans outside of work rather than going home to her parents. 

Samira is the least frequent, but when she does visit she orders a large glass of white wine and nurses it for hours - they talk about anything and everything. She often talks about her Mom, and what she wants to do with her career. She’s kind, and gives good advice. 

Things get even better. When Jack swings by, he no longer looks as concerned as he used to because Dennis looks healthier. Happier. Instead of leaving bags of food, he just leaves coffee or something small like cake, pastries or a sandwich.

In what feels like too little time, he’s moving onto his NICU rotation on the upper floors. The women he’s worked alongside feel like family, he promises to come back if he’s lucky enough to make placement, and is almost choked to death by the crushing hug the Charge Nurse, Dana, gives him on his last day.

“You’re one of the good ones, yeah, Whitaker?” she says eyes proud, but tone firm “you better come back,”

She pulls back and holds him at arm’s length, hands insistent on his shoulders and fondness in her eyes.

“I promise - if they let me,” Dennis replies, his heart hammering in his chest.

He knows, chances are that he won’t even see a full year of his chosen speciality.

But this was never about the end result. It was about helping in the years between. 

Tipping the scales.

NICU is tough, tougher than the ED emotionally rather than physically. Dennis watches parents come and go, children come back from the precipice, but he also watches parents his age - younger than him - weeping over plastic cots as machines are switched off and small, fragile bodies stop moving.

The depression comes back, different to the last time and despite how much time he tries to spend with the ED crew. Dennis wakes to the noise of crying in the middle of the night, echoed memories of mothers and fathers. Alone, in his tiny apartment, Dennis shudders in the darkness at the memory of every stolen moment snatched from desperate parents.

When he leaves the NICU, he swears he’ll never go back.

Third year rolls around and Dennis is suddenly and overtly aware of how little time he has left.

Not even 2 years.

Neurology, Family Medicine, and General Surgery. Then, if he passes his exams, he’s got almost a whole year as a Doctor.

Dennis knuckles down, he can see the light at the end of the tunnel and he pushes himself one last time. 

Jack must notice because he all but stops visiting, but the little gifts don’t stop. But, like he’s picking up on how little time Dennis has to work in the bar - he leaves handy presents instead. A new pair of boots that would have cleared out Dennis’ bank account days before his old ones finally croaked. A new raincoat in the spring to ward off any potential flu from errant downpours. Fresh, soft socks neatly deposited into his chest of draws one morning - they feel like heaven as Dennis slides them onto his aching feet.

The cycle begins again, long days, ruined scrubs, and collapsing into bed. But he’s doing it, and he’s sticking to the plan he’s given himself. He, mostly, maintains discipline - bar the occasional karaoke night out with Trinity and Mel - but he manages to balance it all on a knife edge.

He finds neurology interesting but it doesn’t send thrills of satisfaction through him like the ED had done. Family medicine feels too close to the NICU, and he breathes a sigh of relief when he finishes his last shift. Surgery is as close as he’s got to feeling like he’s back in the bowels of the PTMC, but it just doesn’t scratch the itch. 

Dennis leaves his final exam feeling torn. The tension in his body is deeply engrained, but his shoulders feel imperceivably lighter regardless. 

As soon as he gets back to his apartment, he starts putting together a letter for his ED placement. He hopes he’s not jinxing himself, but he’s silently praying that, bare minimum, he’s scraped through.

Furiously typing, he’s shocked when he hears the clink of bottles behind him from the kitchen. Dennis swivels from his place on the sofa.

It’s Jack, he’s holding two crisp, condensing beers, sans bottle caps.

“I think you could use one of these,” he says, smiling.

Dennis closes his laptop and returns the smile as Jack heavily drops onto the sofa, he takes the offered beer, Jack clinks them together with a chuckle.

Dennis takes a sip, and lets out a contented sigh.

“I’d say you’ve earned that, kid,” Jack says, voice amused.

“Me too,” 

Jack stays for a while and Dennis finds it strange that it feels so normal talking and drinking with a creature that looks like a man.

Due to conflicting schedules, Dennis and the ED crew go out the following week to celebrate. It’s drunken, and full of laughter, and messy. Dennis throws up in an alleyway whilst the others flag a taxi, and whilst he hates the sensation of being sick - he feels so human. A snort comes from next to him, and when he cranes his neck to look up.

Robby’s standing, leaning up against the opposite wall, eyes dancing with delight in the low light.

“You don’t have to look so smug, you know,” Dennis mutters, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

Robby materialises a napkin and offers it to Dennis, who takes it and cleans himself up properly. 

“You got some gum as well?” Dennis asks dryly. 

With a twist of his hand, and a flick of his fingers, Robby holds out a pack of Wrigley’s.

“Show off,” 

That makes Robby bark out a laugh, it echoes off the walls.

“You’re welcome,” Robby says, sarcastic but good-natured.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dennis groans, slipping a pellet of gum into his mouth and revelling in the way it clears the taste of vomit.

“Dennis!” Trinity’s voice calls from the entrance of the alleyway.

Robby presses a bottle of water into Dennis’ hand and puts a hand at the base of his spine, gently guiding him back to his friends. When the shorter man looks up, that affection is still heavy in the older man’s eyes. 

“Go.” Robby urges, softly pushing Dennis towards the cab, the sound of women squawking drunkenly emanating from inside.

“Huckleberry!” Trinity appears from the back seat, she flaps a hand for him to hurry.

Dennis looks up, Robby’s gone. He knew he would be, but the sensation of guidance on his lower back is still present.

He climbs into the car, shuts the door, and sips the bottle of water all the way home.

Dennis gets the results from his exams a week later.

He’s passed.

And a month after that, he gets a reply for his place in PTMC Emergency Department.

He’s in.

Dennis rides on Cloud Nine for the interim between getting his acceptance letter and finally walking through the doors of the ED again. Trinity is the first one to see him, she jumps off her seat at her computer desk and has her arms flung around him in seconds. It doesn’t last too long, however, as she must come to her senses after about ten seconds and pulls away and checks around her to make sure no one saw such a deliberate show of affection.

“You’re clear,” Dennis laughs.

Victoria is the next one to see him in the threshold, she dumps her iPad and jogs around to him with a squeal and gives him an equally enthusiastic hug.

“Welcome back!” 

Dennis reciprocates and when she steps back, her eyes are bright. 

“Hey!” a voice calls.

The three of them pivot over to the Central area. Shen stands with his hands on his hips.

“Go dump your stuff and quit distracting everyone,” he says, smirking.

Dennis nods, Victoria’s eyes go wide before scuttling away, and Trinity snorts and stalks back from whence she came.

Dana gives him a wink as he passes the hub en route to the lockers, Mel sees him through the window of Trauma 2 and even with chaos around her, she still gives him a cheery wave. Samira is too engrossed in her process to look up, and Dennis makes a mental note to say hello properly at a more appropriate time.

Dennis loves working in the ED. He’s missed it so much. Missed the people, the adrenaline, the way no two days are the same. 

Months fly by in a blur of blood, sweat, and tears. He knows there’s not much time left and he makes every second count. Now he’s more permanent, he gets to know the wider circle of staff better. He likes Dr Collins’ dry humour, he wishes he could be as meaningful as she is with a single look. Over the span of a few weeks, he warms to Dr Langdon - some days it’s hard to see past the obvious male-centric personality, Langdon represents something akin to his brothers - masculine, attractive, overtly straight. It rattles him a bit, but he remembers that Langdon is just being himself - and whilst irritating sometimes, he’s not a bad person. Dr McKay is a bit intense for Dennis’ taste, but she’s loyal and steadfast - he grows a respect for her when he sees how much she cares about helping people.

He saves as many people as he can, he wants to make sure he leaves the world better than when he came into it. There’s so little time left now, his sexuality crisis pales in comparison to the inevitable. It barely takes any space in his day-to-day thoughts, it’s too late for that and the one person who he’d be interested in may or may not actually be a person.

He loses track of days, weeks, months; grocery trips, bar crawls, hungover shifts pouring pints, walks in the rain, take-out that tastes better than five-star meals, laughing with Trinity when they watch the worst films Netflix has. This is the life Dennis had never known he needed, the one that he’d wished for without realising.

It happens on just another mundane day.

Dennis is walking down the street to the bar, he’s got an all day shift - open till close. Keys tightly clasped in his hand, he strolls down the sidewalk just like he has a hundred times before.

He’s dead before his body hits the ground.

Painless. Instant. Kind.

When Dennis wakes, he’s standing in the ED. But it’s empty. The walls pristine white, the floor devoid of gurneys. It’s just the shell of the building. No computers, no screens, no medical equipment.

Dennis numbly walks around the furniture that remains. Empty desks, empty exam rooms, still curtains.

“Dennis,” 

Robby is standing in front of him. He’s in that long black coat. He looks sad.

“You’ve had your time,” he says calmly “I’m sorry,”

Dennis shakes his head “I knew it was coming,”

“You’ve got to come with me,” a voice says behind him.

Dennis turns, Jack holds out a beckoning hand.

“It’s time.”

Dennis stands in front of Jack and a dark-skinned woman dressed in a magenta pant suit, in a bright white room that’s claustrophobic in the same way it’s cathedral-esque. She has an air of authority mixed with impatience; as if she has other places to be - better places.

“This is your judgement, Dennis Whitaker,” she says sternly.

Dennis swallows “Sure feels like it,”

“You made a deal with the Crossroads Demon, Jack, in your eighteenth year. It’s time to weigh your sins against your soul. How do you plead against the deal made on your soul?” 

“Guilty,”

Jack’s expression doesn’t shift by much, but Dennis swears he gives him the tiniest grin matched with a barely perceivable wink.

“We have evidence that you committed the sin of wrath on two younger boys, assaulting both of them, how do you plead?”

Dennis thinks back, his mind blank, but then he remembers the homeless man on the street corner - the broom, the sensation of the cell phone under his foot.

“Guilty,”

Jack turns to the woman “The man Dennis was protecting was a veteran, Dennis’ actions led to a turning point in his life. He decided to no longer follow through with plans to end his own life and reconnected with his daughter.”

“Noted,”

Dennis looks at the woman, then at Jack.

“What?”

“Silence,” she presses on “you then engaged in a fist fight months later, resulting in breaking the recipient's nose, how do you plead?”

“Guilty,”

Once again, Jack cuts in. 

“The result of that situation led to a dangerous man who would have gone on to hurt more women, being incarcerated and given sufficient therapy to be able to return to society. His victim started a charity helping those who found themselves in similar situations. She will go on to save hundreds of women, men, young girls, and boys,”

“Noted,”

Dennis throws Jack a look of utter confusion.

 “What about - -,”

“Silence,”

“I’m sorry - but I need to admit to a sin of my own.” Dennis presses “I can’t do this and not confess to it,”

The woman arches an eyebrow. Now it’s Jack’s turn to look skeptical.

“Temptation to lust,” Dennis says, not daring to look either of them in the eye “and thoughts of sodomy,”

Jack looks at the woman. The crease between her eyebrows deepens.

“Mr Whitaker, we have no record of anything that matches that description. You have no record of fornication without consent - or any form of fornication at all, for that matter,”

Dennis’ cheeks burn. Something akin to pity moves across Jack’s face.

“What about… unnatural love?” Dennis mumbles.

“Unnatural love? In what sense? To whom?” the woman asks.

“Rob - - Michael,”

Jack’s eyes grow wide, as if Dennis just confirmed something he already knew.

“You do not love Michael,” the woman says firmly, looking outraged.

“You can’t tell me who I can and cannot love,” Dennis says, his voice fierce - he feels like he’s channeling his inner Trinity “if I’m being judged, then you add that to the list. I love him. More than anything,”

“You cannot love such a creature,” the woman insists, appalled.

Dennis scowls and looks from her to Jack.

“Why? Why is that so hard to believe?” Dennis snaps, his blood on fire from a lifetime of trying to be good and quiet.

“Michael is the Angel of Death - The Grim Reaper. It would be improper for a human to have such feelings for such a being.”

Dennis’ anger is doused immediately “He’s what?”

“Silence,”

He looks to Jack, who suddenly looks a bit lost himself.

The woman continues “Whilst you have exhibited aspects of sin, Dennis Whitaker, I have numerous testimonies and accounts where you have tried to save, saved, or been party to the intervention of those who are homeless, in life-threatening danger due to injury, loneliness, poverty, and intoxication.” She sighs “Dennis Whitaker, regardless of your admission, due to your perseverance to do good during your 10 year deal, I deem you worthy to take a soul to Heaven. Go, please - before I change my mind,”

“A soul?”

“Excuse me?” the woman looks exasperated, Jack gives Dennis a look that has ‘don’t push it,’ written all over him.

“I can take a soul?” Dennis reiterates, eyes darting between the two of them “I want to take R- - Michael’s,”

The woman gapes at him “You want to take the Angel of Death’s soul to heaven in place of your own? Regardless of what consequences may await you once he has been delivered?”

Dennis nods solemnly “I do,”

Jack is vibrating with excitement next to him. Dennis has an opalescent shifting energy in his hands, it’s both cold and warm, heavy and light. Apparently it’s Robby. His essence. His soul.

“In all my years, I’ve never - ever - seen anyone do this,” he whispers.

Dennis stops, he peers at Jack “Why did neither of you tell me what he was?”

The older man rolls his eyes, he flushes “Robby told me not to tell you, he didn’t want to scare you off. Make you act differently around him,”

“Kind of a big thing, huh?”

“Angel of death? Yeah. Just a bit,” Jack shrugs “believe it or not, Robby doesn’t often come across ‘normality’ very often in his job,”

“So what happens now?” Dennis says, eyes unable to stay off the mass cradled in his hands.

“Well…at the moment, Robby’s currently trying to persuade Gloria to let you go to heaven instead of him,” Jack says, scoffing at the ridiculousness of what’s happening.

Dennis nearly drops Robby’s soul “He’s doing what?”

The white room around Jack and Dennis imperceivably morphs into his flat in Pittsburgh. The only difference is that it’s cleaner than Dennis has ever been able to keep it, and pure, golden sunlight is pouring through open windows.

Jack takes the soul from Dennis’ hands.

“Talk to him,”

Dennis looks to the sofa and sees Robby looking up at him. His usual dark clothing is replaced with muted grays and whites. He looks soft. It reminds Dennis of that night.

Jack is gone, Robby’s soul too, in yet another blink of an eye.

“Hey,” 

“Hi,”

Dennis feels himself walk towards the sofa and sit down, Robby smiles and takes one of his hands in his own.

“You’ve never stopped surprising me,” he says, grip comforting and warm “so selfless,”

There’s tears tracking down his cheeks before Dennis can stop them.

“I just wanted to give you what you gave me,” he says shakily.

“Dennis, you gave me more happiness over the space of a decade than I’ve had my whole existence,” Robby takes one of his hands from Dennis’ and lifts it to brush away an errant tear “I’ve done this so long, I can’t remember what my human life ever looked like. But since we met, I’ve never felt closer to feeling alive,”

“I’ve felt broken for so long…but you…,”

Robby shakes his head “You were never broken, Dennis. You’re exactly as you’re meant to be. You’re caring, you’re kind, and you chose to give your life to help others. Those aren’t the actions of someone truly broken.” Robby pauses “do you remember the night we met?”

Dennis nods, numbly. Tears cooling on his cheek.

“Just before Jack offered you the deal, I looked into your soul. You spent far too long in pain, Dennis. And despite that pain, you came out of it wanting to save others. I could feel your conflict, your self-loathing, the way you always cut others slack - but never yourself.” Robby smiles sadly “if there was one thing I wish I could give you, it’s acceptance, Dennis. And proof that how you were born, the things you felt, those things you feel aren’t surety to burn in hell for the rest of your existence.”

“I never - - I didn’t want to - -,”

“I know. I know you didn’t. And I know that there was nothing I could say or do whilst you were alive that could convince you,” Robby sighs “but I thought if you saw…when you passed judgement. That would be enough for an eternal life of peace.”

Dennis pauses for a second. He sniffs and wipes his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

“What if I took over from you, and you were the one who could enjoy eternal peace? Can I do that?” he asks.

Robby’s brow furrows “Dennis, I don’t think that’s really - -,”

Dennis’ gaze turns stubborn “I want to give this to you. I want to try. Please,”

“I wouldn’t ask you - -,”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” Dennis says adamantly.

Dennis wakes up in a hospital bed.

Things are fuzzy to begin with, but Trinity is sat in the seat next to his bed. She’s absent-mindedly flicking through a dog-eared hospital magazine. Her ponytail is a mess, and she’s wearing a hoodie with take-out stains down the front.

He tries to say her name but Dennis can’t speak because there’s a plastic tube lodged in his throat. Trinity notices the movement in the corner of her eye and she’s on her feet in seconds.

“Dennis. Don’t panic. You had a brain aneurysm.”

Dennis panics.

The second time he wakes up, Trinity is gone, and pink light spills into the room from the sunset outside. The tube is gone and he has a new visitor.

“Dennis Whitaker,” Gloria says, she looks absolutely fed up with him.

“Hello,” Dennis croaks, guiltily.

“You have caused no end of problems for me today.” she rolls her eyes “both of you,”

Gloria nods past Dennis and he looks to his right, Robby is laid out on a hospital bed, gown on, nasal cannula secured around his ears, he’s tucked into the sheets military-style. 

Dennis’ breath catches “Robby,”

“You boys have caused me more hassle than I’ve dealt with in the past millennium…and I’ve had to put up with the Trump administration trying to constantly make deals.” Gloria huffs but presses on “so here’s my deal to you. Since neither one of you can decide who goes to heaven, I’m giving you a human life together - a normal life. And if you continue on the path you set out on, helping, healing, then I have no doubt you both will end up earning your spots in heaven when the time comes.

“However, in order to facilitate that you’re not going to remember the deal, Robby won’t remember being the Angel of Death, you’ll forget this conversation. This is your opportunity to grow old together. I want you to take it.”

Dennis watches as Gloria gets to her feet, the pink from the sunset is starting to dull as night draws in, she looks like she’s about to leave but she suddenly remembers something.

“Oh, and I’m going to allow the Crossroads demon Jack to join you both in this endeavour. Admittedly, I’ll miss him, but he and Robby are kind of a package deal. Always have been. He’s earned a chance to have a human life. I’ll be sure to clear his memory, too,”

Looking up at Gloria, Dennis can’t believe what’s happening.

She casts him with yet another serious look.

“Do you accept my deal, Dennis Whitaker?” she asks.

He doesn’t even pause to think.

“I do,” he replies immediately.

“Only you two could end up in hospital together,” 

Trinity pours a cup of orange juice and hands it to Dennis.

“Abbot blames Robby’s lack of self-preservation when you’re around. When he saw you on the gurney, he didn’t hear the call for the shock,” she explains as Dennis reaches across to the neighbouring bed and takes Robby’s hand in his.

“They did a craniotomy on you to stop the bleed. I got to see it, it was sick,” Trinity looks like she’s forgotten it’s her best friend in the bed in front of her - Dennis raises an eyebrow.

“Sorry. It was. Huckleberry, I saw your brain.” Trinity snickers “at least it’s proof you’ve got one, despite shacking up with your Attending,”

“Dr Santos,” 

Dennis looks over her shoulder - in the doorway is Jack Abbot.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on shift downstairs right now?” he asks.

“I had to just - -,” Trinity’s excuse falls flat as Jack arches an eyebrow “I’ll just…uh…head out,”

“You do that,” Jack says as Trinity passes him in the doorway, but he gives Dennis a boyish smile as Trinity’s flushed face disappears.

“They’re due to bring him out of the induced coma in the next day or so,” Jack says, walking into the room, nodding his head in Robby’s direction “the bicarb and calcium’s done its job, he doesn’t need dialysis, his panels look good.”

Dennis squeezes Robby’s hand fondly “He’s an idiot,”

Jack chuckles, but he’s shaking his head fondly “That might be putting it mildly. More than 20 years in the ED and he forgets the first rule of emergency medicine: always listen out for a clear call,”

Dennis can’t believe their luck, the both of them.

“How are you feeling, kid?” Jack asks, crossing his arms across his chest.

“I know it’s strange, but I feel better than I have for years,” Dennis replies, honestly.

Epilogue

Dennis wakes before Robby, his bare front is plastered to the older man’s back. He places slow, small, lazy, warm kisses on his shoulders. 

It doesn’t take long for Robby to shift and wake, a deep laugh vibrates from his chest at the feather light kisses.

“Good morning,” he rumbles, moving onto his back - Dennis manoeuvres so his chin is propped on Robby’s chest.

“It definitely is,” Dennis says, lips tracing the soft skin of Robby’s clavicle, the other man lets out a contented huff.

Robby entwines their fingers together and lifts them aloft, Dennis giggles and moves so he can press their lips together, the cotton-warm skin of his torso exposed to the cool morning air. 

He catches a glimpse of the tattoo he’s seen countless times on Robby’s forearm.

Memento mori.

The kissing turns heated, Robby’s arm drops as their bodies grow impossibly closer. Dennis gasps into Robby’s mouth and he swears he never believed he could be so happy.

It’s that thought that reminds him of the tattoo on the older man’s opposite bicep.

Amor fati.

Before Dennis’ brain goes totally offline by the clever mouth and wicked hands currently trailing south, he thanks fate herself for bringing him to this moment.

End.